February 28, 2010

February 25, 2010

February 23, 2010

Tulips, red and yellow, sit on the kitchen table as slices of sunlight stream through the blinds and rest on the petals. Look up to the white light and watch little specks dance in and around the darkness. The blinds need dusting and the windows need wiping, trivial tasks that somehow slip my mind; they are too commonplace for this cultivated life. You'd say the room is bright enough, but you are not here and there is nothing to be heard. The tea I drink and the cookies that sit in ceramics need company, your company. I wish you were here to admire the tulips and the specks that float through this place, because this is endless.

February 14, 2010

Your honey hair falls over your cheek.Those lips come together in the colour of a rose hip.Freckles cover your skin like floating sawdust.And eyelids close like a golden mist.You sit with your legs folded underneath you,The pumpkin of your toe nails are free from the cotton cream of your skirt.A delicate finger moves to turn another leaf of the parchment.You cannot lift your eyes, the colour of a May morning,Up from the page and you do not notice me,Noticing everything about you.